


more and less than beasts

by Rennfri



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Ensemble Fic, Fix-It, Found Family, Gay Cowboys, Gen, Multi, No Character Death, characters tagged only when they get significant screentime, gay cowgirls, okay maybe a little but none of the ones you want to survive, period atypical lack of homophobia, platonic OCs, this basically starts out like a stranger mission and spirals rapidly out of control
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2019-10-31 06:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17844212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rennfri/pseuds/Rennfri
Summary: A lot of times, Arthur had the strange fortune of making friends with good people. This isn't one of those times.(An OC-driven but gang-centered fix-it, starting in chapter 2 and stopping the death spiral in its tracks. Arthur-focused. Partially the author's excuse to do mini-character studies on various members of the gang, and partially the author's excuse to fix every sad part of this story.)





	1. Pot and Kettle

They weren’t sure what they had to look forward to when they made it down the mountain. New Hanover was bound to be populated, so they had the broad strokes down: settlers, homesteaders, rival gangs. The real trouble would be knowing what to do with those who came before them: to steer clear, or make new enemies.

It wasn’t often anymore they could live and let live.

They knew to expect O’Driscolls. It was easier preparing for a nuisance that was sure to show its face than whatever unknowns might have staked their claim on the countryside. Arthur kept his ears pricked anyway and visited the sheriff’s office on occasion to pull a bounty off the wall. Even if it wasn’t always worth pursuing, he could keep aware of any competition.

He found the first sign of trouble just like that: taking down a poster while Valentine’s best warned him to be careful out there.

(“That one’s no pushover. How they draw her there don’t do it justice - you see that woman in action, and you’ll know she’s damn near feral. It’d be nice if you get her alive but, listen. You do what you have to.”)

The lower part of the woman’s face was covered even in the poster, so it was clear they hadn’t taken her in before. But the sketch artist had taken pains to detail what he could - dark eyes under a tense brow, the straight bridge of a nose sloping under a peculiar, embroidered bandana, and, most identifiably, a chaotic mass of auburn curls.

They didn’t have her name, neither. Just a moniker, and a damn ridiculous one at that.  _ Lion of the Cumberland _ . Arthur doubted any man in Valentine had seen a lion in his life.

He left with the poster anyway, along with a tip for where she’d last been spotted. It’d make a decent story, if nothing else, his taking down a ‘lion.’

It wasn’t a day later that he was stalking through Cumberland, hitching his horse to a tree well off from the swath of forest the so-titled lion was supposed to have claimed. There were some nice spots around, besides. If nobody else was in the area, it could make a good fallback in case Horseshoe Overlook didn’t work out.

They’d had their share of things not work out recently. Part of what drove Arthur to the hunt might have been just that. A hundred dollar payout wasn’t anything to scoff at in their circumstances. 

The money was what stopped him from turning back when he saw her on the riverbank. It was perfect timing, or seemed like - she was relaxing, shoes off, feet in the water. Her bandana hanging low around her neck. Off her guard, for sure. The little girl sitting beside her was a complication, but not enough to make him pack up and turn around. Arthur was not a fool. He‘d done too much killing not to have made an orphan before, even if not sure of when or how.

It didn’t make him feel good. But it wouldn’t stop him, neither. And with any luck, it’d make things easier.

“Don’t do nothing hasty, Miss,” he said, coming clear of the trees.

He watched her whirl around, hand halfway to her belt and stopping only when she saw the barrel of his gun. The girl mirrored her mother, but got further, touching and then releasing the handle of a knife.

They didn’t say anything. Not right away. It was hard not to feel a little bad - to fight the instinct that he was doing something wrong. But it wasn’t like he was aiming at the kid. It wasn’t nothing but survival.

“Nobody's gotta die here,” Arthur said, a little softer.

A second passed and then another, like a stand-off between Arthur and his own damn will. The child sidled behind her mother. The mother stood unsteadily, raising her hands above her waist.

He should have known it was too easy for the high price on her head.

A whistle cut through the silence, not from either of them. Two sharp, clear notes, followed by two familiar sounds: of a bowstring being drawn, and a hammer pulled back.

Arthur stilled. The woman straightened up and reached back to grip the kid’s shoulder. 

“You should really put that down,” she said, with a deceptive sort of calm. 

It was worse than if she’d yelled. The bear he’d tried to take down with Hosea a few days back leapt to the front of Arthur’s mind. He recalled the clean shot he’d had on it - that should’ve, by all accounts, stopped it from in its tracks - and the series of expressions on its face. Fear flickering for only a second in the beast’s eyes before it decided it was more angry than scared.

The Lion had the same look in her eye, and Arthur wasn’t ready to rule out being tackled again. 

“Go on,” she said in a low, snarling tone. “Like you said.  _ Nobody's gotta die here.” _

The whole venture was beginning to look a lot less worth the money.

“What, are you deaf? Put that thing down!”

She stepped forward angrily, and for an instant Arthur felt like he wasn’t the one holding a gun. An arrow lodged just beside his foot, sticking deep into the soft ground.

He lowered his revolver slowly. He was quicker about holstering it.

“That’s better.” Her grip tightened on the kid’s shoulder. He watched her lean down and whisper, no doubt giving the same instructions they’d tell Jack. The little girl took one more look at him before bolting like a shot into the trees.

The woman looked him over carefully, licking her lips before she spoke.

“Why don’t you tell me what you thought you were doing,” she said, taking another step, “and we’ll go from there.”

There wasn’t any good explanation. Not one that’d save his skin.

“Look, it was - it was my mistake.” The words were stilted, feeling heavy on his tongue. He was sure he’d heard somebody say them to him before. “Sure I was just. Looking for somebody else.”

“Yeah, sure, it’s all a big misunderstanding.” She rolled her eyes and reached down, fingers tapping on the handle of her gun. She didn’t draw it. That was something. “So who the hell do you belong to?” 

“Excuse me?” Arthur asked, before he could think better of the question.

“You‘re not dressed like one of Colm’s. And you’d already be saying so if you was with the law, so what is it?”

“You think I’m an  _ O’Driscoll _ ?”

“You always answer a question with a question?”

“Ma’am - ” Arthur cleared his throat. “There’s a bounty on you, out in Valentine.” 

Having weighed his options, Arthur decided he’d rather die thought of as an idiot bounty hunter, considering the options at hand.

“That’s all this is. All this was.”

“Right.” She scoffed. “You‘re still not answering my question. Lemme make it easier. Who’s gonna miss you if my friends put an arrow in your neck?”

‘If’ was more than he expected. 

“Well - a lot of people,” Arthur said, baffled. Though reflecting on the matter after these rough few months did not give him any peace of mind. 

“They have names, these people?”

“You asking me to give them up?”

He wouldn’t. Only thing worse than dying in this stupid way would be dragging Dutch down with him.

The woman stared at him a little longer, pacing to the side. He could see the resemblance more clearly as she moved, all padded steps and lithe muscle. Her ‘mane’ was curlier than he thought lions had, but it was the right color from what he knew.

“No,” she said, after thinking it over for too long. “But I do want your name.”

Arthur could have lied. If he wasn’t still thinking he might die, he probably would have. As it was, he loosed a weary sigh.

“It’s Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”

“Right.” The woman was still watching him closely, though he wasn’t sure what for. Then she reached up, rubbing the back of her neck like she was just as tired of this business as he was.

“I’m Riley,” she offered. “Not whatever they’re calling me in Valentine.”

Arthur nodded, though he didn’t see what good introductions could be doing now. 

“You gonna let me walk away from this, Riley?” He asked, pushing his luck.

“I don’t know. Are you gonna come after me again?”

“After this?” Arthur almost laughed. “Reckon we could both afford to go our separate ways.”

“Good.” Riley, to his surprise, looked relieved. “I don’t care who else you go picking fights with,  Mr. Morgan, but you steer clear of me and mine.”

“That a threat?” He asked, more to register it than to make any trouble.

“No, no, I don’t make threats. I’m just doing you a favor, in the form of a little friendly advice. You see anybody wearing something like this,” she tugged at the bandana around her neck to  smooth the wrinkles out of it. A sloping pattern of blue thread was laid around the edges - something fancy, belonging more on the trim of a fine dress than around some outlaw’s neck. “You see this, and you’ll know the bastard wearing it is one of mine. That’s your sign to turn the other way.”

“Understood,” he said, placatingly.

She pulled the bandana over her nose in a practiced motion.

“My friends are indispensable, Mr. Morgan. And if anything happened to my daughter, well. I don’t think the world would ever recover. So you go test your mettle somewhere else, you hear?”

She whistled sharply, a signal to those not too far-off friends. “I didn’t need this shit today...”


	2. Old No. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! Jack Daniels got its first national popularity boost in 1907, so the title is a little anachronistic. Funner fact, I wrote this whole chapter while listening to that The Devil Makes Three song on loop.

There wasn’t any hiding it from Dutch. It wouldn’t be right to keep the whole embarrassing ordeal under wraps, not with that bounty still posted in Valentine for anybody to pick up and Riley’s gang - whoever they were - running around. Between Pinkertons and the O’Driscolls, they really weren’t in the market for new enemies. It was better sense avoiding that forest altogether than picking another damn fight.

Of course, not a day passed before the incident turned from life-or-death encounter into a camp joke. First it was Bill stepping between him and a fat orange house cat they came across in town - _don’t worry, Morgan, I’ll protect you_ \- like he wouldn’t punch him for the trouble. Apparently, everyone found it awful funny for the resident enforcer to have been held hostage by the big bully of a shitty farming town.

Abigail, of course, was sure to remind him that there wasn’t anything more ferocious than a mother with her kid. That, he would not doubt again.

They crossed paths with Riley’s ‘friends’ from time to time, like neighbors on unsteady terms. John stumbled back from the saloon one evening drunker than usual, owing to a friendly feller with a fine blue handkerchief and a mind to buy him drinks. Mary-Beth got pulled into a scam in Valentine by a sweet young woman in a dusty blue-embroidered skirt. One minute, she was tearfully pleading for her help. And the next, calmly slipping Mary-Beth a few bucks from some poor sap’s wallet once they had both gotten out of sight.

But it did not come to a head until two weeks later, when Bill came back to camp with a tip about a wagon job. Arthur wasn’t sure about it to begin with - being an idea of Bill’s, and all. But Dutch caught wind that the wagon was supposed to be carrying dynamite and that was that, the decision out of his hands.

They rode out with time to spare - him, Bill, and Lenny, which might just as easily have been too many guns as too few. It was always tough to tell with jobs like these.

“This look like it, Bill?”

Arthur looked out from the treeline where they’d been waiting off the road, and saw Lenny leaning forward in his saddle out of the corner of his eye. Bill squinted at the wagon and nodded back at them.

“I’ll take lead on this one, Morgan.”

“Sure.”

They did it just the same as a dozen times before. Bringing their horses to a stop right in the middle of the road, Bill’s a half-step ahead, and all three of them ready with one hand on a gun.

The wagon came to a stop. Unguarded - that should have been their first clue. A strong-arm sat beside the driver, sure, but Arthur couldn’t figure who would transport dynamite without a couple extra riders too.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” The driver smiled amiably, like he didn’t imagine he was being held up.

“Not unless you make it one,” Bill barked. The driver looked a little less friendly when they pulled their guns, but there was something strange about it, like he wasn’t all that scared.

“Now don’t do anything stupid, and we won’t do anything unkind.”

”A-alright, okay - there’s no need for all of that!”

Another oddity - the guard, if that's what he was meant for, didn’t even put up a fight. There more for his looks than for his muscle, maybe? Arthur watched him and the driver surrender and left Bill and Lenny to it. All seemed well as he dismounted to circle the wagon, and made haste to the covered back. Until he lowered his revolver to pull back a drape, and promptly staggered backwards from the barrel of a gun.

There wasn’t any dynamite. Just a smug looking woman wearing a fancy bandana, whose face he hadn’t seen since that awful day in Cumberland Forest.

“Alright back there?” Lenny’s voice rung out.

“Shit!” Riley lowered her gun. “Arthur Morgan, what the hell are you doing here?”

She whistled sharply and hopped down off the wagon. Just as her partners eased up in the front, Bill got wind of what was happening and turned his rifle on her.

“Hey, hey!” Riley raised her hands. Like some kind of lunatic, she looked at Arthur instead of the gun. “Call the dog off, will ya?”

He wasn’t sure how they were going to explain any of this to Dutch. He didn’t even know how to explain it now.

“Damnit, Williamson - ” He groaned, looking over Riley’s shoulder. “Dynamite, really?”

“You know this woman, Morgan?”

“Uh. Arthur?”

He looked at Lenny first, thought about what it would take to give any good explanation, and gave up before he even started talking.

“Yeah, I know her. Shit.”

“I didn’t know you worked wagons, Arthur!” Riley grinned. “Bounty hunting not turn out for you?”

“Bounty hunting?” Lenny echoed.

Bill holstered his gun, only getting more agitated by the minute.

“The hell is going on here, Morgan?”

“I don’t know!” Arthur barked back. Riley raised her eyebrows and finally laid her own gun away over her back.

“I can answer that." The driver peeked over the side of the wagon and waved cheekily before hopping down. His friend sighed, looking to be in about as poor a mood as Bill, and trudged over to Riley’s side.

“You all just walked into a very well-laid trap,” the driver informed them merrily. “That we are... not carrying out, for some reason?”

“For reason of Arthur being a friend,” Riley said.

Both Lenny and Bill looked to him for confirmation and, well. He didn’t damn well know.

“Well - an acquaintance,” Riley amended. “It’d be awkward, bringing in an acquaintance.”

“It would?” The angry one asked, looking doubtful.

“Yeah, Aidan. It’d be rude.”

Aidan huffed and scuffed his boot against the road.

“So, these are the fellers you told me about?” Riley grinned at him, like she was perfectly happy to trade a botched plan for a social call.

“What?” Arthur asked, intelligently.

“The ones that’d care if you died!”

“That’s stretching it,” Bill grumbled.

There wasn’t any winning this, as far as Arthur was concerned.

“So you’re Riley,” Lenny interjected mercifully.

“So they tell me. And this is Aidan, and Christopher.”

Aidan stared off into the distance with a sort of tepid half-tolerance Arthur was almost inclined to admire. Christopher smiled and extended his hand.

“Lenny Summers,” Lenny said, apparently putting more trust into Arthur’s judge of character than made any good sense.

Bill looked less convinced, but grumbled his own name anyway and seized Christopher’s hand with what looked like a want to break it.

“Well, now we’re all introduced - you boys want to pull off the road somewhere for a drink? All we’ve got in the wagon is whiskey.”

Bill had a look like he was actually considering the offer.

“C’mon,” Arthur said, clapping a hand on his shoulder and leaning in to mutter. “Means longer till we have to explain this mess to Dutch.”

“Aw, hell.” Bill groaned, “Yeah, alright. You got somewhere in mind?”

* * *

 

They made camp on a well placed overhang, a makeshift sort of setup with nothing but a fire and some blankets from the wagon. Riley hadn’t been kidding about the whiskey - all that had been left in the back were a couple crates of it, though they’d certainly been stored with the same care as explosives.

“So - I’ve gotta ask.” Lenny leaned over the fire, laying an arm over his knees. “What was the play back there? You all robbing the robbers?”

Riley laughed, a softer sound than Arthur had expected, and took a swig before passing one of the circulating bottles over to Aidan on her right.

“Oh, you know.” Her eyes gleamed in the firelight, full of ill-intent, “that or picking up bounties.”

“We figured dynamite would only attract serious folk,” Aidan added, shooting Riley a pointed look.

Arthur saw Bill stiffen and almost missed Riley elbowing her friend.

“Well, yeah, but y’know. Look.” She sighed, stretching her feet out towards the fire. “We know some of you are... a big fuckin’ deal, or whatever. Seen the posters west of here.”

Another bottle had made its way into Riley’s hand. She offered it to Bill, who looked at it like it might bite him.

“But we’ve all got posters.” She concluded, looking Bill in the eyes. “And I think being on good terms matters for something.”

He took the bottle, and a smile came back to Riley’s face.

“You’re the one who picked the wagon, aren’t ya?”

Bill choked a little on the whiskey.

“How the hell’d you know that?”

Riley smirked like a cat. “‘Cause you’re the one that’s most upset about it.”

Lenny made a sound that couldn’t have been mistaken for a cough, though that was no doubt what he was going for. Bill shoved him, none too gentle, and Riley crumpled over giggling as well.

“Oh, don’t - don’t be upset, Mr. Williamson, please,” Christopher smiled good-naturedly, trying not to laugh, “You’re not the only one whose plan didn’t work out tonight.”

That eased things up a little bit. Arthur thought he saw the smile linger a little, and that it maybe made Bill less cross. But they were all a little drunk by that point in the evening, and he was never too good with reading signals.

“Between you ‘n me,” Riley said, tongue already a little thick. “I was hoping we’d pick up a couple’a O’Driscolls.”

“Why’s that?” Arthur asked, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.

“Agh, you know. Bastard owes me money.” Aidan pressed a bottle into Riley’s hand and leaned his head on her shoulder. For a decently sized guy - smaller than Bill, but broader than Lenny - he sure acted like a lightweight.

“You know Colm O’Driscoll?” Bill asked, less casual than Arthur had been trying to let on.

“What, you think all Irish people know each other?” Riley screwed up her face to look offended, just for long enough to hear Bill start sputtering, indignant.

“You - ya just said - “

“I’m just teasing!” She laughed and took another healthy swig. “Yeah, you know. Not serious or nothing, but we crossed ways a couple times. Why, do you?”

“Nah, not really,” Arthur lied, doing his best to keep his head even as it started feeling lighter.

“That’s pro’lly for the best,” Riley said, nodding.

“He’s kind of a prick,” Aidan added, half-lucid from her side.

“Yeah, we heard,” Lenny ventured, picking up on Arthur’s caution.

“Ah, well. Hope we didn’t take you all too far outta your way for this.” Riley caught a yawn from Aidan, which in turn had Bill stifling one behind his hand.

“Well,” Lenny said, looking Arthur’s way doubtfully.

“Least you didn’t shoot me.” Arthur said, halfway serious.

“Hey, likewise! I’m makin’ a habit of not shooting you, Mister Morgan.”


	3. Writing on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has self-image issues, Dutch keeps pulling for a lost cause, and Charles is just trying to make everyone keep their shit together.

When the stalemate finally broke, it was in the only way Arthur felt he should have expected: with the worst of theirs gone missing, and not a peep about it from the law in a fifty mile radius. Micah may well have been in the wind for all they’d known, or crossed ways with an old enemy. He figured a man like that had to have plenty of old enemies.

It wasn’t until they got Riley’s letter that they had any real idea of what had happened.

Someone shot the note wrapped tight around an arrow into camp, within range and out of sight without catching anyone’s attention. Riley never carried a bow, though he knew she had at least one associate that did. Whoever made the shot left no other trace behind.

The note read like a child’s taunt, and was written in about as sloppy a hand.

_dear van der lindes,_

_we picked up a mouthy bastard you might be interested in. blond, ugly, smells like trash, says he’s yours. come pick up your garbage or we’re gonna have to dump it._

_riley_

A crudely drawn map on the back set out the pick-up spot - a rarely-frequented clearing north of Flat Iron Lake, unoccupied the last time Arthur had passed through. So just a meeting point, most likely, as Riley’d be a fool to tell them now where her gang was camped. It was actually convenient, distance-wise. Not that he’d be caught saying so with Dutch worked up into a lather.

He knew, somehow, that Micah had done something stupid. From the tone of the note, or past experience, or just plain intuition. And he said as much to Dutch, recounting his brief talk with Riley about her friends.

“You want me to go after him again?” he asked, long-suffering without the slightest guilt about it. It hadn’t been two weeks since he’d blown a hole in the Strawberry jail - he had the right to be annoyed. “I know her a little. Could be she’ll work with me.”

“Do you think she can be reasoned with?”

“She’s keen on talking, at least. Didn’t shoot that arrow into anyone.”

“Fine. Take Charles along, in case _charming_ her doesn’t work.” It wasn’t clear if Dutch was angry at him for no good reason, or just projecting agitation from what Micah had gotten himself into. Arthur didn’t think too hard about it, but sincerely hoped it was the latter.

“Sure.”

* * *

They carved a slow path to the pick up point, interrupted by another fruitless search for any tracks Riley’s bowman might have left. Unfortunately, it was near impossible to separate those out from the dozen recent trails the rest of them had cut to and from the camp. So the ride out was tense, eased not a bit by the knowledge that they would have to arrive exactly as expected.

“So, what exactly happened between you and this woman, Arthur?”

“She tried to kill me,” Arthur said bluntly, “but, uh, that was after I cornered her. Fair’s fair.”

“And that business with the wagon?”

“That, I barely understand myself. She’s got some kind of gang - the wagon was a set-up. A damn good one.”

Charles frowned. Arthur carried on.

“But Riley took one look at me and put down her gun. Hell if I know why. From what I understand, her boys have been to Blackwater. They knew what was at stake.”

Charles shot Arthur a look that he could not begin to comprehend. It must have shown on his face, because Charles coughed after a minute and spoke up again.

“It sounds like she might be sweet on you.”

Arthur snorted. “Now, that’s just plain mean.”

“Is it so hard to believe?”

“There’s nothing to believe. It just ain’t possible. I threatened her. With her kid right there.”

“And she invited you to drink. What makes you so sure?”

“‘Cause I’ve seen me.” Arthur huffed. “I don’t have any delusions about it - there ain’t much to be impressed with.”

There was no time for Charles to argue the point. They began to make out bits of Riley’s outfit, glimpsing bodies through the trees and hearing soft whistles echo along their path. Whether it was communication or intimidation, Arthur wasn’t sure, but either way he wasn’t enjoying any of the business.

Christopher was with her, along with one other man Arthur hadn’t seen before. They were big guys, both of them, and armed like they were planning to start their own militia. Despite hostile appearances, Riley waved them over like old friends.

“Oh, good! You boys got my message?”

She stepped gingerly past her friends, sparing a glance back and a murmured, “It’s alright, James,” to the dark-skinned fellow on her right. James looked doubtful, but stayed back. After exchanging a deliberating look, Charles and Arthur dismounted at their distance.

“What‘s this all about, Riley?” Arthur said, “I thought you didn’t make threats.”

“Oh, I don’t.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I was just giving you fair warning. And look - you showed! So no harm done.”

It seemed highly unlikely there was neither harm nor hurt feelings. But Riley kept a pleasant look on her face, and Arthur wasn’t keen on making trouble. Particularly not for Micah’s sorry hide.

“Sure, we showed. Where is he?”

“Oh, he’s close, don’t worry. Who’s your friend?”

“Charles Smith,” Charles answered, unshakably calm. “And yours?”

“Christopher Baker,” said the man on Riley’s left, in a noticeably worse mood than he’d been in on the wagon.

“James Ward,” the other offered, gruffer still.

“Good to meet you. Now that we’re all acquainted,” Charles said, civil as can be, “would you tell us where you’ve got Micah, Riley?”

“Wouldn’t you rather know what he did, Mr. Smith?”

Charles glanced at Arthur warily. Arthur sighed, straightening a little where he stood.

“Something awful, I imagine,” Arthur interjected. “But this’d be a very different meeting if you weren’t intending to return him.”

“Well, I’m sure as shit not bringing him back to my camp.”

Not thinking too much about it, Arthur raised his hands, not unlike how he’d calm an ornery horse. She sure was reminding him of one.

“And we’re glad to take him off your hands,” he said, trying to placate.

It didn’t work.

“Your man knocked my brother off his horse.” Riley didn’t raise her voice, but she had on that same tone on again. That cold anger, calm and overly controlled. It was no less rattling than the first time they'd met. “Said something awful rude in town. They got to arguing and, well. Will was good enough to walk away. But your Micah? Seems like he was just waiting ‘till my sweet little brother mounted up to shoot the poor animal out from under him.”

For a minute, Arthur found himself thinking they should’ve maybe come ready for a fight.

“I’m assuming, for your sake, that this prick’s a decent shot. That he was meaning to hit the horse, or else we wouldn’t have nothing to talk about. Does he usually pick fights like that with decent folk?”

Arthur couldn’t very well say no. At least, not with a straight face. He sighed.

“Micah’s a bastard, and a damn fool. We’re not denying any of that,” Arthur said plainly. “But we need him back,” he added, with less enthusiasm.

“Is your brother alright?” Charles asked, words like an olive branch.

Riley’s expression softened. “We wouldn’t be talking if he wasn’t.”

They stood at a stalemate, each waiting for something that wouldn’t come. Arthur wasn’t sure what else Riley was expecting. He was still half-wondering if Micah was about to be yanked out from behind some tree.

“It was a nice horse, though. A blue Nokota. Do you have any idea where to find a horse like that, Mr. Morgan?”

Arthur sighed. He was realizing, bit by bit, her penchant for drawing out confrontation.

“Can’t say that I do.”

“Mm. Well, you’d better start looking.”

She gave the order so casually that it took a minute for it to even register.

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t have the first idea of how outraged he sounded. Charles’s hand landing on his shoulder gave him some notion.

Riley looked almost like she was enjoying herself.

“I know, I know - personally, I don’t think your Micah is worth more than a horse’s ass. But let’s just say you deliver the whole horse and we call it even. For the sake of peace.”

“As opposed to war, Riley?” Charles asked, keeping his tone far more level than Arthur would.

“I just thought you boys might have had enough of that. With the O’Driscolls, and the law and all.”

“What do you know about that?”

“Oh, very little, Mr. Morgan. Barely enough to pick sides, if it came to that.”

James and Chris had moved up closer beside her. Though they hadn’t drawn just yet, Arthur wasn’t about to rule out the possibility.

They stared each other down until Riley reached up to pull her mask back over her nose.

“Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of your man - and be sure you tell Mr. van der Linde that this isn’t a ransom. It’s just his being a gentleman and making things right. I hear he is that, anyway. A gentleman.”

* * *

“A gentleman! Seems she’s under the impression that I’m a wealthy gentleman as well, to provide something like that.”

“Well, we could always cut our losses, Dutch.”

“Don’t you have any constructive suggestions, Arthur?”

“I am being very constructive,” Arthur said, knowing that he wasn’t. “Look, nobody really wants him here! And this ain’t the first trouble he’s dragged us in since Colter. You have to admit he’s got a talent for stepping in it.”

“That does not mean we can just cut him loose. We don’t do that."

Dutch wasn’t exactly wrong, though Arthur could not divine the wisdom of that mindset in times like these. He huffed, and felt no less agitated when Dutch let him do so like a boy throwing a fit.

“I ain’t riding across the country to find this horse,” he said finally, out of nothing but spite.

Dutch raised his hands.

“I wasn’t even going to ask you to.”

Sure, he wasn’t.

* * *

It took four days. Time they wouldn’t get back and that set the camp more on edge with every passing minute until John came back with the (almost surely not legitimately acquired) mare.

Kieran tended to the fussy thing while Dutch barked orders on his way to the Count. Arthur, for his part, was wondering if Riley hadn’t been right. If the horse wasn’t worth more than Micah in the first place, and if there was any point collecting him at all.

“Don’t see why we can’t just keep the horse,” he said, reaching up to pat the mare. Kieran flinched back from where he was brushing it - jumpy as ever, even with the past few weeks behind them.

“You think that’s funny, Arthur?” Dutch sounded irritated already, and Arthur loosed a sigh.

“No, Dutch,” he said, on just the wrong side of respectful.

And then, after a beat, he muttered, “‘cause I wasn’t joking.”

Kieran gave him a look like he might have agreed, but turned his head away quickly to secure a lead to the Nokota.

“I’d rather see you two fighting face to face, when he’s back safe in camp. Can you do that, Arthur? Hold the commentary until we know Micah’s okay?”

“Sure, sure.” Arthur swung a leg over his horse and spared one last look back towards camp.

“Last chance to turn around,” he said, only halfway kidding.

“ _Arthur_ ,” Dutch clipped, exasperation in a word.

“I know, I know.”

He felt less and less sorry for the hassle the closer they got to the lake. It wasn’t the first time they were paying for Micah’s stupidity, and Arthur had an awful feeling it wouldn’t be the last. Dutch barely spoke on their way there, probably feeling half usurped, and that by a woman whose gang they didn’t know the first thing about. These weren’t O’Driscolls: loud and conspicuous, able to be tracked if they decided to make anything of revenge. Riley’s friends were a subtler type. Arthur wasn’t sure how they’d begin to hunt her down short of another lucky bounty or a tip.

It was quiet when they approached. They had no sign Riley was there before seeing her, leaning back against a tree with two of her men waiting not far off. It was only afterwards that Arthur recognized the sorry bastard slumped among the roots as Micah - trussed up no kinder than they had done to Kieran, but with a rag stuffed in his mouth.

It stood to reason. He doubted anyone in their right mind would want Micah to talk.

There were no courtesies this time, no exchanging of names. Riley just watched them approach and took down her bandana, looking Dutch over more than him.

Micah started fussing by the time they dismounted, and Arthur could not ignore a twinge of satisfaction when Riley kicked him for the trouble.

“Hey!” Dutch protested sharply, “I was told you were out for peace, Miss. Are you not a woman of your word?”

“Does this look like anything else?” She turned to face them and adjusted the belt slung over her shoulder. It took Arthur a moment to place it as Micah’s.

“There is nothing to be gained from beating a man while he’s down.”

“Oh, I really wish that was true.” Riley smiled unkindly. “So you’re Dutch van der Linde? You look like him.”

“Suddenly I’m not sure I should say.”

“I’m sorry we’re meeting like this - honest, I am. I wasn’t even planning to pick this feller up until he picked a fight for no good reason.”

She stepped forward brazenly, ignoring all of the traditional rules of confrontation and sliding Micah’s guns carefully off her shoulder. It was a good move - showing them she wasn’t in any position to draw even while her men watched hawkishly from a distance. Gave them some reassurance of peace.

“Here, see? I won’t even steal from him.” Arthur reached out to take the belt. Riley looked right at him, and Arthur recognized badly-hidden amusement, showing in her eyes but not her lips.

Dutch saw it too, judging by the incredulity creeping into his expression.

“It worked out nicely, though,” Riley said, “I was hoping we’d get the chance to talk.”

“About what?”

“About - well, a fancy friend of mine would call it a ‘joint venture.’ We keep tripping over each other anyways, I figure it won’t be any money lost.”

“You’re looking for a truce?” Arthur interrupted, making no effort to hide his shock.

“More like a partnership. In some things, anyways.”

“And you thought the best way to go about seeking one out was by taking a member of my family?”

Arthur wasn’t all too keen to hear Micah described as one of them in any fashion. But now was likely not the best time to make such a distinction.

“Geez! I’m giving him back, aren’t I?” Riley said, grinning. “And he’s worth a lot, you know. The Nokota - gosh, that wouldn’t even go for two hundred at a stable.”

Arthur felt something cold forming in his gut as he realized exactly how Riley was deciding to run her mouth.

“But your Micah, wow. Even without selling his equipment, I could have turned him in for a full grand down in Blackwater. And here I am, giving you a discount!”

Dutch did not look at all reassured.

“And why would you do something like that?” He asked, voice heavy with suspicion.

“I don’t like to break up families. And I was just thinking, well, you boys seem nice enough, and competent.” Riley spared a glance back towards the tree. “Most of you. And my friends got more ideas than free hands, nowadays.”

“So you called us out all this way to ask me to work with you.” Dutch sneered. “Threatened my family. Kidnapped Micah.”

“I know,” Riley replied, with much less levity. “It’s a big surprise. After your boys tried to rob my wagon. After Arthur, here, tried to take me from my little girl.”

Dutch frowned and lifted his chin defiantly.

“But I’m bigger than all that, Mr. van der Linde. Most men would take this opportunity to start some bullshit rivalry - to start killing each other, wasting time with revenge when there’s a bigger picture to think about.”

It sounded awfully familiar. Arthur glanced at Dutch, wondering if he had the same associations in mind. Wondering if it was just him, or if what Riley was saying was making more and more sense.

“But as you can see, I ain’t no man. I’d rather shake your hand than bite it.”

Dutch was silent for a minute, looking into Riley’s eyes. For once, taking the matter completely seriously, she didn’t smile.

“What did you have in mind?”


	4. Calms and Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles didn’t doubt Riley had adjusted her idea of what made a good man, same as the rest of them. He’d noticed a pattern in her instructions: shake the passengers down gently, leave the engineer alive, keep Micah out of any job demanding a light touch. He wondered just how much of that was really about making a successful heist. How much was something else.

They found Riley waiting on an overlook by Riggs Station three days later, mask up and leaning one arm against her horse. She looked over as they approached and straightened to mount up, settled in the saddle by the time the four of them came to a stop.

Arthur watched her look each of them over in turn, a grin showing in her eyes when she counted off Bill, Charles, and himself. The pleased look fell off unceremoniously as she met eyes with Micah.

“That Dutch has a funny sense of humor, doesn’t he,” she grumbled, turning her horse around. “Alright, boys. We’ll be boarding after the train passes Wallace, should be ‘round eight tonight. Most of the tourists get on at Riggs, but there‘s a nice long stretch between Wallace and the next station that’ll give us some wiggle room.”

“Anyone else meeting us?” Charles asked, first to fall in behind her.

“Yeah, my friends should be up there already. Just figured I’d meet you all halfway.”

They set off riding north along the tracks. Riley kept them at some distance, close enough to see the rail but with the cover of the forest keeping their path obscured. She was familiar with the area, calling out obstacles and detours well before they were in view. They made it halfway to Wallace and crossed a narrow stream before she picked up the thread of conversation again.

“Just so we’re all perfectly clear,” Riley said, slowing to a canter, “We ain’t trying to stop this train. If it stops, they get to run and call the law, we strand a bunch of angry tourists in the middle of nowhere for no reason, and things get real messy real quick. I’d rather we keep the engineer driving than take him out, unless any of you is keen on getting your license today.”

“You think we never done this before?” Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“I’m just making sure, that’s all! I hear some of you don’t know too much about the art of _subtlety._ ”

She glanced back at Micah for that, and he spurred his horse on to ride up next to them.

“You really think now is the right time to pick a fight?” He asked, baring his teeth.

“I don’t know.” Riley raised her eyebrows. “Am I the one who’ll have to explain myself to Dutch?”

Bill snorted meanly some ways behind them and Micah reared back, about ready to turn on him instead.

“Quit it, both of ya,” Arthur said. Micah sneered, but had enough sense to fall back. Riley grinned, not at all rebuked.

“Oh, hold up. That’s my girl up there.”

As they slowed, Riley sped ahead of them, coming to a short stop before her friend. Arthur hadn’t seen her before, but at a distance she matched the description Mary-Beth had given those weeks ago - a young woman like many in their own camp, with loose brown hair and a sweet, friendly face. She was the kind of girl Arthur would have sooner taken for a rancher’s daughter than an outlaw. Perhaps she had been one before.

They kept their distance, watching while Riley and her friend dismounted and started to chat. Riley was grinning in a way Arthur hadn’t seen from her before - no antagonism buried shallow or sarcastic gleam in her eye. The lady said something else and glanced over Riley’s shoulder at them, which got the outlaw giggling and grabbing for her arm.

Riley leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. It wouldn’t have been that unusual a sight - not until she bent in closer and hooked a hand around the woman’s waist in a way that didn’t look at all platonic.

She murmured something softly an inch from the lady’s ear, and Arthur’s ears went pink with the notion that he was seeing something... private. A real kiss followed, prolonged and on the lips, and Riley peeled away with a stupid grin before meeting eyes with the dumbstruck members of their gang.

“What’s wrong with all of you?” She asked loudly, getting back on her horse.

“Nothin’, Miss,” Bill said, too quickly, before the rest of them had gotten back their footing. Riley came back their way as her friend rode further east.

“She’s a little pretty for you, don’t you think?”

Arthur did not have to turn to know Micah had an awful look on his face. He was surprised to hear the man grunt a second after - with the butt of Charles’s gun caught in his gut.

“And you’d know the first thing about pretty?” Riley raised her eyebrows, waiting till the insult registered to snicker and turn around. “Come along, boys. They’re waiting up for us.”

She turned to lead them, and they blinked intelligently at each other before falling into step. It wasn’t as though Arthur hadn’t heard of women keen on other women, but. Neither had he seen the like firsthand before. 

“So, is she, uh,” Bill began, grasping for a word.

“My sweetheart, yeah. Maria.” The name came sounding like a sigh. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

And that settled that. Riley glanced over her shoulder at them after another minute passed, raising her brow with open curiosity.

“What, you’re not saying none of you have...?”

She made a gesture that was a lot more vague than crude. Charles shrugged while Micah’s face twisted, making him even uglier than usual. Bill went a little pink.

“Not - seriously, ma’am,” Arthur answered, a little stilted.

“Oh, we’re back to ‘ma’am.’ Now I know there’s something. _”_ She grinned, almost conspiratorial, as they came up on the rest of her men.  “I’m just teasing. But for men running from civilization, y’all sure do love to cling to it.”

Arthur met eyes with Charles, who shrugged impartially as they came to a stop beside the tracks. Riley’s men had picked a spot by one of the water towers, letting their horses graze while they checked their guns and watched the sky.

“So! I know some of you know each other, but for the new faces - Arthur, Charles, Bill, Micah, this is Frank, Martin, and James.”

She gestured down the line. From Frank, a deeply tanned, brawny, Italian-looking feller, to Martin, an Irishman who could have easily passed for Riley’s older brother. And James, of course, the oldest of the bunch by a couple decades and in a significantly better mood than he’d been on Flat Iron Lake.

“Isn’t that the _coglione_ we picked up in Valentine?” Frank leaned forward, grinning like a wolf.

Micah reared back in his saddle.

“ _That guy is a fucking lunatic_ ,” he hissed at Bill.

“Ey! Speak up, tough guy. You gonna make some more trouble today?”

“He’s fine, Frankie.” Riley put a hand on his shoulder, placating. “There gonna be a problem here?”

“Not as long as you keep your dog on a leash!”

There had to be a story there. Arthur doubted if they’d ever get it out of Micah.

Frank raised his eyebrows, face twisting with disgust, but Riley squeezed down and muttered something under her breath. He grumbled, shook her off, and cast only a dirty look in Micah’s direction.

“Let’s just try to get along for a few minutes, alright?” Riley smiled, sitting up straight in her saddle, “We need two guys to get up front and make sure the engineer cooperates. Two hopping on at the back and heading to the baggage car, two _gently_ relieving the good passengers of their valuables, and two on horses to head off the law and keep things clean. Maria’ll be spotting us in case anything goes sideways - but please, I’d like to make tonight very boring for her, so do the best you can.”

“Micah, this is just a - a wild guess, but I’ve got the craziest feeling you’re not a people person.” Judging from Riley’s expression, it was neither a feeling or a guess. “Mind taking up the back with James?”

“Do I _mind_?”

“Oh, he doesn’t,” Arthur interrupted.

“Hey you, big guy,” Frank grinned at Bill, “How about we take the front?”

“Uh - yeah.” Bill, like the rest of them, was thrown by the lack of firm direction. “Alright.”

Arthur found himself looking to Charles, who had apparently taken the whole change of pace in stride. It stood to reason - he was less used than the rest of them to one man barking orders.

“How do you feel about keeping an eye out, Riley?” Charles asked.

“Better if you’ll be riding with me,” she said, grinning like a little kid picked first to dance.

“Well, guess that just leaves us.” Arthur chuckled.

“‘Salright,” Martin smiled easily, “I don’t bite.”

“Come on, big guy!” Frank was already halfway up the water tower. He swung nearly free of the ladder to call down to Bill, “You never jumped a train before?”

“ _Jumped_?” Arthur looked at Riley.

“Safer than hopping off’a horses, though, isn’t it?” Martin chimed in first.

“All about safety, our Riley,” James said dryly.

“Oh, c’mon, guys - if Arthur’s scared,” Riley began, grinning through her teeth.

Arthur huffed, hopping down off his horse and shouldering his repeater.

“Oh, I’ll show you scared, little girl.”

That got a laugh out of Riley’s whole faction, and he caught her giggling on his way up the ladder too. They could already hear the train while the rest of the group followed him up, leaving just Charles and Riley on horseback down below.

Frank stepped up to the edge of the platform. Bill followed right up next to him, only a little thrown when Frank clasped his shoulder amiably and shouted an encouragement over the roaring train.

They were standing right about where operators would to fill up the water tank. There would barely be a gap to step over or drop down. And no need to grapple with the edge of a car or risk of getting caught in a stirrup.

They watched Bill and Frank jump on first, close as they could to the front of the train. Then, with precious little time to waste, Arthur stepped up beside Martin and threw himself onto one of the passenger cars. He landed nearly on all fours, but got his balance quickly after and made for the front of the car.

“Quick and clean, boys!” Riley shouted from her mare, keeping pace with Charles and herding the rest of their horses between them, clear of the train. “Quick and clean!”

A conductor was the first to spot them dropping down by the door. Before he could shout, Martin jammed the butt of his rifle into the poor man’s head. It was barely a mercy over killing him, judging from how quick he crumpled to the ground, but there wasn’t time to stop and question judgement.

He’d barely gotten inside when he started hearing gunshots further back. James and Micah, he would bet, taking care of any guards. His and Martin’s job was simpler - shouting down the passengers, the same rich tourist types Riley had promised. It didn’t take much. Though it seemed to him that Martin was putting on an act, it was all the same with an audience that didn’t know any better.

* * *

 “So, you been riding with them long?” Riley asked conversationally, over shrieks, shouts, and the occasional gunshot from the train.

“Is now really the time, Riley?”

It seemed like every time the woman talked, it got harder to understand just what she was about. She picked the strangest opportunities for niceties, in Charles’s limited experience - in the middle of a heist, or the beginning of a hostage situation. And that wagon job, from what he heard, that had supposedly ended with some kind of unplanned campout.

He couldn’t say it wasn’t interesting, at least.

“I promise, I can talk and watch at the same time.” Riley said, grinning, “Listening’s even easier.”

He looked out over the mountainside, just as empty as it had been before any of them boarded the train. And he thought, well. It couldn’t hurt.

“It hasn’t been long.” Charles offered, choosing his words carefully. “But they’re good people.”

“Yeah, I think I’m starting to see that.”

It was a strange compliment to give, even as their mixed group of companions ripped anything worth taking from the train. But he didn’t doubt Riley had adjusted her idea of what made a good man, same as the rest of them. He’d noticed a pattern in her instructions: shake the passengers down gently, leave the engineer alive, keep Micah out of any job demanding a light touch. He wondered just how much of that was really about making a successful heist. How much was something else.

“So why didn’t Dutch send any of the ladies? I’ve seen ’em around.”

“I think he was worried you’d woo them to your side,” Charles deadpanned.

The joke landed - Riley snorted, lifting her hand halfway up to hide a grin before realized she was still wearing her bandana.

“You know that’s not what I meant!” She shook her head, still giggling. “Not sayin’ I _couldn’t_ , but.”

“I don’t think this is their sort of job,” Charles offered graciously.

There was a whistle from the back of the train, clear and sharp.

“That’s for me,” Riley said. “Back in a minute, okay?”

She fell back, slowing her horse while the train sped ahead and falling into pace near the last baggage car. James leaned out to toss a tightly knotted sack, which Riley caught with little trouble and secured to the back of her horse.

The whole process took less than a minute.

“So, how about you?” Charles asked, once Riley was back in earshot. “How long have you all been running together?”

“Depends on who you mean. Martin ’n I practically grew up together - we were, uh, working with some other people when we were kids, but that didn’t pan out. I was still basically a kid when I met James, though I wouldn’t’ve admitted it. Most everybody else, it’s been a few years, give or take?”

Charles listened, keeping his eye on a southern road that led to Valentine as the train sped past it.

“And Maria?”

“Just a year. Since we met - not, uh, everything else.” Riley paused, like that might have been the end of it, but her curiosity won out. “You know, it ain’t as uncommon as all of that. Can’t believe you could all be running from something and not _one_ for loving the wrong guy.”

That was another thing. Charles knew it wasn’t any of his business what anyone else did in their spare time, but he could easily imagine one or two of the others deciding it was theirs. It was just as easy to say that it hadn’t come up, as to suspect there had been some reason for the silence.

“Like I said, I haven’t been with them for long.” Charles settled on nonchalance. “For what it’s worth, I don’t see what difference it makes.”

“Yeah. Be nice if everybody agreed with you.” She started herding the horses back as the train approached a short bridge. “Alright, we’re getting close now. We can follow ‘em across here, but then I’m calling it.”

* * *

 Martin stopped Arthur on the platform between cars and waited until the door shut tight behind them.

“She’s gonna call us out soon,” he said, leaning close to speak over the roar of the train. Arthur couldn’t be sure how he knew, but was not inclined to doubt Martin either.

“Then we’d better hurry up,” he said, pulling open the door to the next car.

By some bizarre intuition, Martin turned out to be right. They’d made it not halfway down the aisle before a chorus of whistles started ringing out, first from Riley riding up close by their car, and a minute later echoed by Frank and Bill, pulling the horn twice at the front of the train.

“That’s our stop,” Martin said, keeping on the gruff, bully-like tone he’d adopted to hassle passengers. A quick glance out the window proved they were nowhere near civilization. Arthur could guess how they were planning to get off when Martin started towards the back of the train.

“You go on ahead, I’ll finish up here,” Arthur said, like a greedy idiot. There was just something about being in the thick of it: the promising weight of the bag in his hands, adrenaline making it feel not close to enough. The impulse to keep taking like a noose around his neck, one they’d all be happy to pull tighter now thinking they could cut it later.

And then, something unexpected.

“You get hurt, an’ she’s gonna kill me.” Martin said. “C’mon. Let the rest have their lucky day.”

Nobody else Arthur knew would’ve proposed they walk away. He looked towards the back of the car - to people still half-blind with panic, huddling to their neighbors and watching them with a mix of fear and resignation. He tried not to think about the things they were still holding onto (cash, gold watches, wedding bands) as he followed Martin out, moving faster once they left the last passenger car behind.

They passed through the ransacked baggage cars, every cabinet and luggage open and stripped of anything worth taking. Stepping over a smear of blood on the floor where a guard had been, they found Charles riding behind the train with Micah and James already, and the rest of the horses corralled between them.

Martin whistled and his Standardbred broke away from the group.

“You mind passing this down?” He tied off the sack in his hands and handed it off to Arthur before he stepped up to the edge. Martin waited for his horse to get close enough and start to turn before throwing himself onto its back in a practiced move.

Bill and Frank had caught up by the time Arthur was passing one bag and then the other down to Martin. So there was little time to stop and think about what a stupid thing he was doing before he tried to jump onto his horse. Just about all the air left his lungs when he landed, clumsily, but he righted himself fast enough to see Bill make it off with just as little grace.

“Where’s Riley?” Martin was asking, riding up to Charles’s side.

“She said something about making sure they got off alright,” Charles answered, looking pointedly ahead while Frank leapt onto his horse.

“Everybody accounted for back here?”

Like a devil summoned, Riley rode out from around the train, and Martin huffed out a sigh.

“Looks like it,” James answered, “And Maria?”

“She knows where we’re meeting up.” Riley grinned at them, slowing while the train sped away. “Well, c’mon! No sense waiting to get caught.”

* * *

It was a long while before Arthur bumped into Riley after that, and a damn shock, as it happened. He nearly fell off his horse as she propped herself up on her elbows at the edge of one of the Cotarra Springs, clothes and guns spread out neatly on its bank.

“Arthur Morgan! That you?”

“Are - what the hell are ya’ doing?” He sputtered. “What happened to your clothes?”

“Oh, they were filthy. I tracked an elk up this way and, well, long story. Turns out there’s a reason butchers usually wear aprons. I pro’lly could’ve planned that part better.”

She laughed and something glinted in the water by her hands - a knife, Arthur realized, when he found the courage to look at her at all.

“Haven’t you ever taken a dip in one of these before? Natural hot springs. A girl could boil.”

She sighed and sunk in deeper, the water rippling around her collarbone. It didn’t seem to be a matter of any modesty, given how she’d flashed him when he first approached.

“Uh. Can’t say I have.” Arthur cleared his throat. “That a razor you’ve got under there?”

“This?” The knife emerged, thin and light like it was made for throwing. “Nah, this is in case anybody unfriendly came along.”

“You sure that’d do the trick in a quick draw?”

Riley looked at him oddly, and reached up to run her fingers through her hair. The water dripping down her skin caught the light as she stretched up, and suddenly it felt like Arthur was doing something he shouldn’t. He coughed and politely averted his gaze.

“I don’t think anybody’d _start_ by drawing on me in this state.”

Riley was grinning when she sunk back into the water. While it rippled at chin-level, she looked more crocodile than temptress. Arthur decided not to give voice to the resemblance.

“Reckon you’re right on that count.”

“Mm. Hey, you mind turning around?”

“Sure.”

Riley snorted as he turned, and a series of splashes indicated her graceless exit. Then there was the shuffle of clothing baked dry on the hot ground, and the clicks of a belt buckling before Arthur deemed it safe to face Riley again.

“There. Good as new!” She lifted a pink-tinged sleeve towards the sun, frowning at the color. “Well, close enough to that. Think the good people of Strawberry’ll believe it’s a new type of dye?”

“You got business there?” Arthur still wasn’t entirely sure if her gang had any sort of specialty, but it usually paid to assume the worst.

“The elk, remember? I know the butcher. Nice fella.”

“Sure,” Arthur agreed after a second, when it was clear she was serious.

“C’mon, Arthur, I’m capable of making a friend or two.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“Yeah, but you got that look. That - _oh, how can this wild woman walk among normal folk_ \- look on your face.”

Arthur chuckled. “That’s awful specific.”

“‘Cause I’ve seen it a lot.”

“So, Strawberry?”

“Strawberry. Cute little town. Though I hear you’re in some trouble around those parts.”

Arthur grimaced. “It’s a long story,” he said, only half lying. It would depend on how he told it, he supposed. It could be summed up in four words: Micah was a fool. Or five, as ‘Micah was a fool _again_ ’ seemed a little more truthful.

But the whole explanation was uglier, and Arthur was not sure it was something he cared to fully recollect.

“Want me to pull down some of the posters for you?” Riley proposed.

Arthur chuckled, shaken from his thoughts. “If it was that easy, I’d pay you.”

“Wouldn’t that be a nice little business? But hey, speaking of paying, I was meaning to ask,” Riley tucked both hands behind her back, “What are you all shooting for, anyway?”

“How d’you mean?”

“Well - me and my friends, we like to fly under the radar. Try not to make too big a fuss. But it seems like you all are...” Riley paused, searching for a polite description. “Let’s say aiming for something higher.”

Arthur wasn’t the right one to ask. He knew there was always some end game, some grand dream - California, most recently, the West. But they’d gone twenty years without reaching any end, and some pessimistic part of him was sure they could go another twenty just as well. Every time it felt like they were getting somewhere, there was another setback. Whether it be a new enemy, another mouth to feed, or a complete disaster like Blackwater.

“Well, we ain’t aiming to be doing this forever,” Arthur said, instead of voicing any of his doubts. “Takes a hell of a lot more to get out of this life than stay the course.”

“Mhm, I can imagine. But you don’t got any... _particular_ reason for being in this part of the state?”

“Is there something you ain’t telling me?”

Riley waved her hands.

“No, no, ’course not. I just hear things, is all. Wonder if anybody’s gonna act on ’em.”

She was clearly getting at something, but Arthur wasn’t about to beg. He waited just a moment, smiling, and Riley carried on impatiently.

“Just let Dutch know I’ve got a tip or two, of he’s interested. For a modest finder’s fee, of course.”

“Modest, I’m sure.”

“By your standards, I’d say so.”

“And what would you know about our standards, exactly?”

Riley shrugged innocently. It wasn’t a good look on her. “I read the papers now and then, that’s all. He can always say no.”

“Well, I ain’t making any promises.”

“Don’t you worry, I’d never ask for one.”


	5. No rest

“Arthur!” Charles’s voice rang out, “get out here!”

They’d gone more than a week without an incident. Some part of Arthur was sure that made it overdue. He nodded at Javier across the fire and stood up, tossing a half-empty bottle to the side and hopping over one of the crates lying around to get out to the edge of camp.

It was an ugly scene. Charles had to catch Riley as she slid off her horse, the poor beast a sight beyond spooked and stained up and down with blood.

“Doesn’t look good,” Charles murmured, glancing his way.

A smear left on the horse’s side led him to look closer at Riley’s leg. Even in the moonlight, Arthur could make out the dark spot on her thigh, pants torn from a bullet hole and all but glued to the skin with blood.

“ _Shit_."

“Yeah,” Riley agreed, looking up hazily. She leaned heavily on Charles when they started to move, clinging with her fingers digging deep into his side. “Can’t ride back like this. I lost ‘em, but— _fuck—_ ”

“Alright, alright,” Arthur shushed, taking up a place on her other side. “It’s okay, we’ll set ya’ right.” Her horse whinnied behind them, stomping at the ground. Riley twisted around to calm it and ended up choking on a scream.

“Damn it, Riley." Arthur’s grip slipped, slick with blood of an uncertain origin. But Charles kept a good hold, so Arthur let go altogether and turned to holler towards the camp. “Kieran! Get out here!”

At this rate, they were bound to wake the whole camp, but Arthur figured this’d end up cause for a meeting anyway. Kieran staggered out, bleary-eyed and missing both his boots. He only really jolted awake after laying eyes on the bloody sight between them.

“Take care of the horse, will ya?”

Arthur could only half-stand that boy at the best of times, but at least he had his uses. Kieran hurried past them to calm the horse, shushing the big beast and getting hold of the reins. Riley had gone mostly slack in Charles’s grip, but she looked blearily at Arthur when he turned back to her. Still awake, then. That was as good a sign as any.

They barely reached the scout’s campfire to find half the gang up and awake. Men and women staggered out in various states of dress, most having picked a gun over their boots or hats. Jack peeked out from behind a tent flap only to be shoved back by his mother. Cain, with no notion of the gravity of the situation and assuming any newcomer had come specifically to pet him, bounded past the fray to greet them.

“What the hell is going on here—Arthur?” Dutch was the only one who looked immaculate, like he'd never gotten to sleep. Even so, it still took him a minute to discern Riley in her state.

“We save fellers as need saving, right?” It wasn’t the time for cheek, maybe, but Arthur wasn’t sure he didn’t mean it serious. The look on Dutch’s face meant he was being taken that way.

“You trust her?”

It wasn’t a question he was ready to be asked. But there was no time for doubting now that he’d dragged her into camp. And hell, not knowing Riley too well, he trusted her at least twice as much as Micah. And that bastard was already here.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Was she followed?”

“Says she weren’t.”

“Okay.” Dutch looked down to meet her eyes. It seemed a monumental effort for Riley to lift her head, but she managed. A tangle of curls, splattered here and there with blood, fell into her face.

“I’ll owe ya,” Riley said, brow pinched in with pain. “Not looking for charity.”

“Are you going to tell us who was after you?”

“No one good.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Dutch sighed. Arthur watched him pause, considering. He’d seen the look on Dutch’s face a million times before, gears turning while he worked out the best way to proceed. A _plan_ in the making.

“You’ll be safe with us,” Dutch said, taking a softer tone. “Get some pressure on that leg, Arthur, quick. Someone get Herr Strauss out of bed. John, Bill, I want a patrol out, right away. Can't have whoever was after her sniffing around here.”

* * *

They set her up on Arthur’s bed. Just for the night, Riley had insisted, making it sound like some wild inconvenience for him to sleep on the ground. The wound stopped bleeding in good time once they got a compress on it, but the bullet had torn halfway through Riley’s thigh and none of them were sure if it made more sense to leave it be or shred her up worse getting it out.

She barely slept that night. Arthur knew on account of his own constant dozing and waking. Come three o’clock, he gave up on rest altogether, resorting to flipping through his journal and eventually getting up to check their stock of medicine. If there ever was a reminder to keep up with supplies, this would have to be it.

It was impossible to miss a candle lit in Dutch’s tent on his way. The closed canvas did nothing to hide light coming from inside. It would’ve been a sign for anyone else to move along, but Arthur twisted to stretch his back, muffled a yawn behind his hand, and, feeling a little more awake, pulled back one corner of the canvas.

Miss O’Shea was asleep, laying on her side in the bed. Dutch, looking agitated before he saw who had intruded, was standing over his desk.

Arthur watched the lines in Dutch’s face smooth over, preemptive outrage fading into a resigned sort of exhaustion. He closed the weathered book in front of him and spared a glance back towards the bed.

“Took you long enough.” He stepped past Arthur, gesturing for him to follow. “Best we talk outside.”

They made their way out to the edge of camp in silence and stopped at the smoldering scout’s campfire, reduced by this time of the night to ash and crackling, burned-through wood. It was an odd enough experience to see Dutch sitting on a stool beside the fire, instead of standing on his platform or sharing a table with Hosea. Arthur couldn’t help being reminded of the old days, long before they’d had a camp anywhere near this size. Neither could he help feeling fifteen years old again, up alone like this with the two of them.

“You think this was a good idea, Arthur?”

It was rare that Dutch asked for his opinion nowadays. But, to be fair, rarer still that Arthur did anything but what he was told. When he really thought about it, he wouldn’t have brought Riley here if it had been up to him. She had her own gang, that was clear enough. But nor could he have turned her away when she was dying on their doorstep.

“Reckon it was better than letting her die here,” Arthur said, looking up from the fire to see Dutch watching him close. “She’s got friends, Dutch. Still not sure how many, but at least enough to be a problem if they thought we all but killed her.”

That seemed to set him thinking, staring past the fire with hands clasped between his knees. Dutch planned like some man prayed—appealing to some force beyond anyone’s grasp, be it God or luck or the strength of his own mind.

“You get the feeling that they’re still alive?”

Arthur thought back. This, the woman who’d warned him right away not to touch her friends. The one who nearly strung Micah up for giving her brother a bruised ego.

No, he could not imagine anyone had died without her going screaming into hell along beside them.

“We’d know it if they weren’t.” They sat like that another minute. The silence of the camp wasn’t near as absolute as it should have been so late at night—whispers broke through on and off, at least a dozen souls awake and keeping quiet for the friends they thought had got to sleep. It wasn’t long before Hosea sat down beside them, fully dressed and looking like he had barely tried to rest.

“See I’m not the only one having trouble nodding off tonight.”

Dutch smiled wearily at his oldest friend, and it was like the image was complete. They all might have been a little older, but it may as well been twenty years ago, times simpler and future much more promising. Arthur thought he might have been able to doze off just like that. If Hosea’d let him rest his head on his shoulder, like he was a kid again, it wouldn’t have taken a minute.

“What’s your take on all this?” Dutch asked, voice barely rising over the crackle of the dying fire. Arthur took it on himself to feed it, rising to haul over a piece of wood from the stack nearby.

“You’re doing the right thing here, Dutch.” Hosea’s voice was soft and crooning, another reminder of old times. “She’s a little… rough around the edges, that woman, but at least she’s honest. Don’t think she was just talking when she said she’d pay us back.”

Arthur crouched before the fire to set a log on top, waiting to see it catch before he reclaimed his seat.

"Cost us a whole lot less than it gave her.” Hosea added, glancing at Arthur as he sat back down.

“Did it,” Dutch intoned. “Do we even know who she’s running from? Who shot her?”

Arthur turned to look at Dutch, surprised. “Ain’t nobody said we’re making her troubles ours.”

“I know you aren’t that naïve.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing,” said Hosea, thoughtfully. He earned two incredulous looks for that, and chuckled at both of them. “Been a long time since we’ve worked with anyone.”

“And here I was thinking that was by design,” Dutch said.

“Come on, Dutch. She’s no Colm O’Driscoll, you can see that. She seems to care about her ‘friends’ near as much as you. And she’s been circling us like a stray cat for long enough.”

Arthur frowned, thinking that over for the first time. It hadn’t occurred to take their encounters except as they came, but they looked odd enough put together. More than once, she hadn’t shot him, hadn’t closed a trap on any of them for what looked like random acts of kindness at the time. But she could’ve—should’ve, probably, dragged Micah back to Blackwater and made a nice payday out of him. Same for Bill or all of them, that evening with the wagon.

“We barely know who she is,” Dutch said, not entirely convinced.

“Then it might be worth asking her.”

* * *

Arthur didn’t have a mind to leave the fire until first light. Sitting in silence with Dutch and Hosea beat laying awake on his own, and he was confident enough Riley would use her voice if something went wrong.

It turned out, he was exactly right.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“You get back! I can still shoot you just fine!”

Arthur abandoned all plans to stop for coffee, passing by a slack-jawed Pearson to see to the commotion at his tent. It was an absolutely bizarre scene. Micah, apparently just returned to camp, had decided to show his outrage by waving a gun around. Riley, held back only by her wounded leg, had still managed to get at her own holster and was training a pistol on Micah in return.

“There better be a good reason that hellcat is in your bed, cowpoke!”

“Put that thing down before you hurt somebody.”

“She drew on me!”

“You started it!”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Arthur put himself physically between them—not too difficult a task, considering that Riley was immobilized. Micah, all talk as usual, staggered back away from him. “Put it away!”

Micah cursed under his breath, spat into the dirt, and holstered his revolver. Riley placed her pistol carefully beside her on the bed. Drawing it had knocked her belt to the floor, and she was probably not able to reach far enough to retrieve it.

What a goddamn mess.

“What is going on here?” Dutch had made it over from the fire. Arthur looked over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows at the fortunately late arrival.

“Oh, Micah!” Dutch said. “Good to see you back.”

“Is it?” It might have been the first time Arthur heard Micah question Dutch outright. “What is she doing in our camp, Dutch? The woman had me strung up for a week!”

“And I held Arthur at gunpoint, you bastard!” Riley exclaimed, “You see him being such a baby about it?”

Arthur watched, in real-time, as Riley realized that this may not have been the best argument in her own favor.

“She’s a menace!” Micah said, exasperated. “She says so herself.”

“She is _hurt.”_ Dutch’s tone was final. “She isn’t going to be doing any harm to anyone in her condition.”

“She just pulled a gun on me!”

“Then maybe you ought’a think about what it means that a wounded little lady can get the jump on ya,” Arthur interrupted.

“I am not in the mood for _jokes_ , cowpoke.”

“Who says I was joking?”

“Enough, both of you.” Micah all but snapped to attention. Arthur turned reluctantly to face Dutch. “Take a walk. Have some coffee. Just cool down, both of you. And Micah, later, I want to know where you’ve been.”

“Yes, boss,” Micah said, casting one last angry look Riley’s way and stomping off.

Riley watched him go, grounded on the bed.

“You should know I didn’t start that,” she informed them curtly, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Miss Riley.” Even worded so politely, there was a note of admonishment in Dutch’s tone. Riley had the decency to look contrite.

“Yeah,” she said, without any bite. “Thank you, uh. For not turning me away.” She tugged the blanket a bit higher over her hips and let out a short, huffing little laugh. “I’m sorry, Mr. Van Der Linde, but this’d be a much better conversation to have after I put on some pants.”

Somehow, it had slipped Arthur’s mind that they had removed those. On account of the bullet wound, and all.

“Oh—of course! Yes, uh, my apologies, Miss.” To Arthur’s particular amusement, Dutch actually looked flustered.

“You know—I got something in my saddlebag. If you don’t mind, Arthur?”

“Not at all,” he said, turning with an unbearable grin on his face as Dutch beat a quick retreat. “Just a minute now.” He cut a path briskly to the horses past most of the camp grumbling awake, and nearly stepped on Kieran on his way to Riley’s mare.

“Christ! You never get to bed last night, O’Driscoll?”

“I’m _not_ —" Kieran opened his mouth to protest, and was overtaken by a yawn. Arthur watched, more amused than he should have been as the boy tried and failed to fight it.

“They were agitated,” Kieran said eventually, like that was any explanation. He reached up blearily to rub his eyes, “with all of the commotion.”

“Yeah, they ain’t the only ones.” Arthur stepped gingerly over Kieran—not on him, and wasn’t that an improvement—to unbuckle Riley’s saddlebag. Her Fox Trotter huffed distrustfully but let him do it, and Kieran staggered to his feet.

“Do you know what her name is?”

“Riley?”

Kieran looked at him sideways. “Her horse.”

“Oh.” They were maybe all a little more tired than they were letting on. “No idea. You’d have to ask her.”

Arthur took the saddlebag and went on his way, stopping by the pot this time for coffee.

“Long night, huh, Mr. Morgan?” Pearson was leaning against the wagon, not even trying to look like he was working yet. That was fair enough, as far as Arthur was concerned. At least he’d put the coffee on.

“Uh huh.” He tucked the bag under one arm to pour himself a cup and then, on a second thought, slung it by a strap over his shoulder to pour out another.

“Is she gonna be with us for long?”

“What am I, her keeper?”

Pearson squinted at him. “Aren’t you?”

“Oh, shuddup.” Arthur took a sip of coffee, ignoring how it burned the roof of his mouth, and made his way slowly back over to his tent. Riley was just where he left her, now looking over his photos like discretion hadn’t been invented yet.

He cleared his throat and set her cup down on the table just to make her turn away. Thankfully, she took the bait, lifting the cup up to her lips.

“You’ve been running with them for that long?”

He should have known he wouldn’t get off so easy. “Yeah,” he said, watching her twist again to look at that old weathered photograph. “Been near twenty years.”

Riley hummed under her breath, like she was impressed. “Geez. You’ve known ‘em near as long as I’ve been alive. Was it just the three of you? You, Dutch, and...?”

“Hosea. Yeah, well... more or less. Miss Grimshaw’s been around ‘bout as long as I can remember.”

“She the one who cut my pants off?"

Arthur snorted. “That’d be her. You have a look at those bandages yet?”

“Will you laugh if I say I’m half afraid to?”

“Not to your face.”

Riley blinked, and ducked her chin to giggle. She looked a lot younger like that—not covered in blood or throwing her weight around.

“I’d feel it more if it was real bad. It’s not my first time getting shot.” She pulled back the blankets anyway, just enough to expose her wrapped up leg. She was not too proud to wince when she turned it, twisting to examine the padding packed over the wound.

“Well, you didn’t bleed through,” Arthur offered optimistically, “And you ain’t running a fever.”

“I might just live long enough to pay you back, Mr. Morgan.” She settled the blankets back over her leg. “Pass that bag over here.”

He set his cup down to do so, and Riley began rifling through. A few things came out onto the table: a small metal flask, screwed tight; several scraps of blue embroidery; and a plain brown skirt, rolled up good and tight to fit. He hadn’t actually seen her in a skirt before. But, now that he thought of it, he’d also prefer something loose over an injury like hers. Arthur averted his eyes politely as she tossed the blanket off her legs to pull on the skirt. It didn’t sound like a terribly easy process, in light of her lessened mobility, but he imagined she would tell him if she really needed help.

“Alright - do you mind, just,” Riley huffed, and then he heard her settle on the bed. “Can I lean on you for a minute?”

“Alright, hold on.” They were already in this damned situation. As well as he could without taking stock of Riley’s state of undress, Arthur moved to stand beside the bed. Riley was not nearly as shy about using him for an armrest, cursing up a storm when she first put weight on her leg and resolving to lean entirely on Arthur instead. From there, there was just the awkward business of pulling up and buttoning the skirt.

Riley sat back on the edge of the bed, barely even looking sheepish. “Thank you,” she said, with remarkable dignity.

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t tell nobody. John’ll give me hell if he hears how I’m treating you.”

“Deal.” She took up her coffee cup again, though not before unscrewing the top of the flask and adding a splash to the contents.

Arthur raised his eyebrows but refrained from commenting. Better that than morphine, he supposed.

“You really not gonna tell us who was after you?”

“What does it matter? They’re all dead now.” Riley raised the cup up to her mouth and blew steam off the surface.

“I really can’t stay, y’know,” she added, brow pinching in. “They’ll be looking for me.”

“The dead men?”

She shot him a withering look. “My friends.”

“Well, good luck getting anywhere on that leg.”

She sipped her coffee and watched him over the rim of her cup. He knew what was coming before she even opened her mouth.

“I know I’m already in your camp,” Riley began, a strong start if there ever was one, “And taking your bed, and being as much of a nuisance as a person can be, but.”

Arthur sighed.

“Could I ask you one more favor?”

“You can _ask_.”

“Can you go look for ‘em? Please? If I let Martin think I’m dead, he’s gonna kill me.”

“I don’t know, Riley,” Arthur grumbled, “I was fifty feet away and you nearly shot somebody. What’s gonna happen if I leave?”

“Micah started that, and you know it!”

Was this what Dutch heard in their arguments? He sure as hell hoped not. Riley had never sounded so much like a kid.

“Promise me you can stay outta trouble for a couple hours.” Arthur said, trying to sound stern.

“Cross my heart,” she agreed, nodding like a bobblehead.

“Alright.”


End file.
